Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind
by SweetestRemedy
Summary: Not all of us can keep our sanity when Z day roles around. Read and Review please!
1. Waking up

**This SHORT story came to mind after waking up from an especially horrible zombie nightmare. It's not actually based on the nightmare though…That might be saved for another day, and another story.**

**UPDATE: I wrote a story about the nightmare I had. It's called "Kill Me Now, Dear Bullet". Some scenes are similar to this one. It was the nightmare that after all, inspired this story.**

**The main character is a 13 year old girl. I'm telling you this because it doesn't mention it at all in the story.**

Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind

By PHfan21

POW! A sharp report came from upstairs, my mother's room to be exact. I got up from the sofa with a heavy sigh, looking longingly back at my book. I knew what waited for me upstairs. But whatever…I guess.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the front door slamming shut. I waited in bed a few moments longer, reveling in the warmth of my bed, and the chill in the air. I love being wrapped up, nice and warm, while everything else around me is cold. I didn't bother getting changed, it was Sunday, and so I had no need to be getting ready until I felt like it. I usually sleep with some socks on, but last night I forgot, and now I can feel our soft carpet under my feet and between my toes. It feels nice. I look down and wiggle my toes. I giggle at the sight. My tootsies are dancing to a tune only heard by them. Finally I decide to get a move on and see what the commotion is about. There are 16 steps on our stairs in all. With each one my parent's voices get a little louder and clearer.

"-the fuck should I know?" my father said irritatingly, with a touch of worry.

My mom hesitated before answering, and then said meekly "…I don't know. I just thought I'd ask."

At that point I reached the bottom of the stairs. They both turned to look at me. They were surprised. I guess they didn't realize how loud they've been. I was about to complain that they woke me up, but the dark expressions on their faces stopped me.

"What's wrong?" I questioned instead.

"You fa-"my mom started but was interrupted.

"A crazy guy attacked me on my jog this morning. Dumb ass bit me too." Dad said that last part with anger. "I'm going to bandage it up. It's actually not _that_ bad. It won't need stitches anyhow. Nothing to see here folks." He said with a smile.

Soon after he left to the bathroom my little brother showed up at the top of the stairs with the classic 'I'm too tired, and I want to go back to sleep' routine which consisted of yawning a huge yawn and rubbing his eyes, then blinking blearily, trying to get everything into focus. He's seven years old, but small for his age, so he looks more like a five year old. We rarely fight because somehow we can never find anything to argue about. We have a pretty cool relationship. I never got it when people at school talked about how annoying their little brother or sister was.

Like me, he asked what was wrong, but mom and I answered "nothing" in unison. We all sat down at our table waiting for dad to come out of the bathroom. After he came out he just glanced at us, then opened the door to the basement, and went down. Our basement is our Rec Room. It's got a big screen TV, pool table, coach, and about a bazillion board games.

"I'm coming too!" my little brother squeaked. Mom and I are still sitting at the table, keeping to our own thoughts. Now that I'm thinking, I can't help but remember I never got a good look at dads bite. He was covering it with a towel, and had his hand pressed firmly over that. I hope it's not that bad, like dad had said.

I got up to begin making breakfast since mom hadn't made it yet. I turned on the burner, then grabbed all the breakfast foods from our fridge. Bacon, eggs, and sausage. All meats. All I can say is, we're no vegetarians. We love our meat. I settled myself into the comforting routine of cooking, until the simple peace was disrupted 10 minutes later.


	2. The shit hits the fan

**Warning: This is the chapter where the rating kicks in. Even though it's not **_**too**_** bad, it still has some pretty sick parts.**

Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind

By PHfan21

I was putting the meaty breakfast onto four plates when a crash came from downstairs. 'Probably them just playing around' I thought. Then I suddenly forgot about the noise downstairs because I burnt my hand on the hot frying pan.

"Damn it!" I said softly. I wasn't allowed to cuss, so when I did I always said it quietly.

I yelled up to mom, who had gone upstairs in the middle of my cooking, that breakfast was done. Then I carried the plates to the table, setting out a napkin for each of us, and some silverware. Since my dad and bro probably didn't hear me yell to mom I decided to open up the basement door and yell at them to get their butts up here.

I wish now, that I'm reflecting back on this incident, I could say I felt something was off. I wish I could say the hairs on my neck stood up, or that my gut hurt. But I didn't feel any different than normal when I opened up that cellar door.

My dad was on his haunches, leaning over something, directly at the bottom of the stairs. I thought he was ripping up paper at first because that was the sound that was coming from down there. I guess I was sort of right. He moved off to the side, and that's when I saw.

He was eating my brother. _EATING_ him. Like a freakin' cannibal. So far all he had eaten was his face. One of my brothers eyes were popped, yellowish ooze seeping down the side of his face. He had no bottom lip. I could see his whole row of bottom teeth, gleaming white against all the red. He also had a bite taken out of his cheek. It seems as though my father wanted to sample a little of everything. A little eye, a little lip, and a little cheek.

I couldn't move. I couldn't stop watching this gruesome ritual of father eating son. With every second passing by, I became a little more numb. Yes, I see my dad eating my brother; I have no problem about this, not anymore.

Where was mom?

I kept watching. My dad seemed to be done with the face. He next moved onto the stomach. I never knew how easy it was to open it up. All dad did was take his hands back to back, with fingers pointing down, and slammed them down into the soft meat. When his fingers were in all the way, he pulled his hands apart.

Steam rose up from the warm innards, swirling prettily until they disappeared. I'm learning so much right now. I never knew that intestines were a grayish-purple. I guess I never had reason to think about it, but now I certainly do. They're right there. Dad wasn't interested in the intestines though. He went straight for the heart. It wasn't beating. He ripped it out with a mighty tug. Blood flew from the huge arteries attached to the heart and flung everywhere. It was a few shades darker than the bright blood that had come gushed from my brother's face. This color of blood screamed of death, and of pain.

I never thought of a heart as being like an apple. But that's sure how my dad treated it. The bite he took was huge. The sound was very juicy, and then that ripping sound again.

It was then that my mom finally showed up. I didn't hear her come down the stairs. But I heard her shriek, which was right by my ear. If my mother hadn't made that awful noise, I think I could have watched my dad forever. It was mesmerizing.

In an instant his head shot up, piercing us with his gaze. Even though he just ate, he looked hungrier than ever. Hungry for us, for our blood, for our flesh. That look almost made _me _hungry. For what, I do not know.

My brother started to twitch, and slowly he got up. He tripped on his first step towards us though. He had stepped on an intestine. A sick ripping sound could be heard, coming from within his tummy. He didn't even flinch. When he rose again, him and my father both snarled and began running up the stairs, tripping and climbing most the way up though.

I guess when they were about halfway up my mom started yelling at me to SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR. Hmm. I've never heard my mom cuss. I contemplated that fact until a sharp pain came from my scalp. My mom ripped my hair out. What a whore.

Finally, at the last second, I slammed the door in their faces. I felt reluctant to do it though. They were so hypnotizing, and it was nice.

Banging and scratching came from the door. I think I heard a nail break off, but I couldn't tell for sure. I wanted to open the door to see if I was right. I wanted to see if the nail was either stuck in the grain of the wood on the door, or sitting on the ground. My hand reached for the knob, but was knocked away by my mom. Why is she being so difficult?

I looked at her and was perfectly ready to spit some nasty insult in her face. She was blubbering though, so I decided to leave it. She turned and went upstairs again. I sat down on the coach, reading my book. The shrieks and wails coming from the basement were like a CD. I liked listening to it. It had a nice beat to it.

POW! A sharp report came from upstairs…


	3. Going back to sleep

**This is the 3****rd**** and final chapter…enjoy **

**Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind**

**By PHfan21**

I stood at the bottom of the stairs a little longer than necessary. When the gunshot sounded, the banging, scratching, and wailing from down stairs became more frantic. I stood in wonder, listening to the creatures that my father and brother had become. The sounds they were making were so…inhuman. This whole day has been very interesting.

I climbed up the stairs that, not too earlier led me down to my mom and dad, but now they lead me only to my mom. I took each step slowly, fully knowing that it's bringing me closer to something horrible.

I took a breath every time I took a step. It sort of became a mantra in my head, breath-step, breath-step, breath-step. Until I finally reached the top. I noticed yet again the soft carpet under my feet. Then I giggled for no reason at all. Soon it turned into raucous laughter that seemed to jump from my open mouth and bounces off the walls, reverberating until there were many voices laughing.

I welcomed the new voices; they made me not feel so alone. I knew I was the only one in the house that could still make some sense.

The door to my mom's room was closed. So I opened it a few inches. A smell wafted to my nose. It smelled like copper; blood, with gunpowder.

The door creaked as I opened it all the way. I had known since I heard the gunshot, what I would find in her room. And I was right. So I wasn't shocked when I saw her limp body lying on her bed. She was partially sitting up, her body resting against the headboard. She had shot herself in the head.

A small revolver was held by her hand. A hole, with only a trickle of blood flowing from it, sat on her temple. I walked up to her, and stood beside the bed. I was contemplating what I should do next, when a shrill sucking sound came from her mouth. It sounded like she was screaming from far away.

She was breathing.

And that's when I attempted to take the gun from her. But her hand was clamped on it like a vice. I pulled her fingers, one by one, away from the handle. Finally I got it, and I looked up and noticed the trickle of blood had increased. Her eyes were rolled up in her head, her face pointed toward the ceiling. Her mouth was slack, hanging open, gaping at me. I pointed the gun at her, and shot her in the head. The sound resonated in my ears, hurting them. And this time, she stayed dead.

The bullet entered in the front of her forehead, and at that angle, the exit was large. I could tell that the back of her head was pretty much gone. Blood, bone, and gray brain matter painted the wall and headboard.

I set the gun down on the small table next to the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and got under the covers with my mother. A warm jelly like substance leaked onto my head. I sat in a puddle of warm blood that was already starting to congeal and cool. It stuck all over to me, but I just snuggled closer to her dead body until I got into a more comfortable position.

I decided I was going to take a nap, since I was so rudely awaken this morning. Then, when I woke up, I was going to put that gun in my mouth, pull the trigger, and eat a bullet.

* * *

**_Thoughts of a dying atheist_**

**_By Muse_**

_scares the hell out of me  
and the end is all I can see  
and it scares the hell out of me  
and the end is all I can see_

_and I know the moment's near  
and there's nothing you can do  
look through a faithless eye  
are you afraid to die?_

**For those of you that didn't know, it is possible to survive a bullet to the head, as long as it hits an area that is "empty" of important stuff.**


End file.
